


Bleeding Love

by Ambiguous_Salamander



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst, But hopefully will become a relationship by the end, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Is this how you tag?, Kallus needs to sort out his feelings, M/M, Pre-Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, Torture, Zeb whump, cause there isn't enough, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29907207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambiguous_Salamander/pseuds/Ambiguous_Salamander
Summary: After being captured by the Empire, Zeb is tortured for the location of the rebel base. As the Fulcrum, Kallus decides to save Zeb and leave the Empire.Sort of a Through Imperial Eyes au
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 12
Kudos: 25





	Bleeding Love

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be honest this got longer than I expected. This is also my first time writing these characters, and anything Star Wars, so if anything is a bit off that's why.

Stormtroopers gathered in the hundreds, their orderly groups waiting for the ship to arrive. Nowadays, with the Rebellion growing every day, it was uncommon for a mission to prove to be successful. Much less to exceed expectations. 

Kallus stood with the other officers at the hangar. News of a captured rebel was cause for stress for him. Not only would he have to report back to the Rebellion so they could extract their rebel, but he would also have to help with that rescue.

He already felt exhaustion seep deep into his bones.

The ship landed the rows of stormtroopers gathered to help with the prisoner transfer. The wave of white armor blocked his vision. He wondered what idiot let themself get captured. Was it somebody he was familiar with or a stranger?

Within the mob of Imperial armor, a flash of purple fur caught his eye, his stomach dropped. 

No, no, _no, no._

Garazeb Orrelios was the stupid rebel to get caught? His brain racked with all the anger, guilt, and _something indescribable._ It took all the training Kallus had to keep himself impassive, no matter how much his thoughts raced.

He didn't know his current stance with the Lasat and their experience on the ice moon would like to believe they were, at least, on friendly terms. The experience with Garazeb changed him for the better, but that wouldn't excuse any of the actions the ISB agent made. He told him as much after they had snuck off during a scuffle between the warring factions.

He told Garazeb–no Zeb– how he began to notice how cold the Empire was. With that frigid feeling choking him, the agent sought out the truth and what he had discovered disgusted him. He was nothing more than a cog in a nightmarish machine. 

_Kallus had nearly grovelled on the floor in shame, voice shaking as he tried to utter the sickening information to the other man. Kallus wasn't exactly sure if he had cried, not that it mattered._

_"So you've found out the truth. What are you going to do about it then, Kallus?"_

_Kallus’ vision was filled with purple as a four-fingered hand presented itself as a path towards a better future. Kallus didn't take his hand, for some unknown reason the agent hesitated. The sound of thundering boots rapidly approached the pair, a flurry of emotions morphed Zeb's face before settling with a dejected look. Zeb departed, leaving Kallus behind to wallow in his messy emotions._

_Not long after their encounter, Kallus had been contacted by an unidentified person giving him another opportunity to join the Rebellion. Zeb's marvelous words echoed in his mind as he agreed to become Fulcrum._

_From then on as he tirelessly worked to dismantle the Empire from the inside, Kallus sometimes found himself wondering if Zeb knew what effect he had on the agent. Or if Zeb even spared Kallus a second thought at all. Strange feelings bubbled in his stomach as he pondered how Zeb would react to Kallus becoming Fulcrum because of hi–_

A deep roar snapped Kallus out of his thoughts; Zeb had attacked the leading commander during the transfer. An impressive feat, but he supposed that a prisoner as powerful as Zeb wouldn't have any trouble even with the binders. A brawl ensued with the stormtroopers, who attempted to overwhelm the Lasat with their numbers. 

The agent didn't bother barking any orders at the soldiers. It was not his fault that they forgot that they had blasters in the heat of the moment and thought they could go one-on-one against the mighty rebel. They might have thought that Zeb was at a disadvantage because of the binders, but Kallus knew better. And he wasn't going to be the one to tell them. 

He itched to join the fight and help Zeb escape. It would blow his cover, but it was a risk he was willing to take. 

_He would risk everything to keep Zeb out of the Empire's grasp._

Watching the exchange from afar, he took a step forward before hearing Konstantine sigh in exasperation next to him, "Shoot it, you fools!" 

"Stun the rebel!" Kallus found himself shouting in a panic, "We still need him alive for interrogating!"

He couldn't watch Zeb struck down by a blaster shot; the notion made him sick to his stomach. Not that having him be stunned was any better to observe. Kallus swallowed a lump in his throat as a portion of the troopers began to shoot at the Lasat. Zeb's body seized as multiple waves of electricity hit him.

He felt like vomiting.

Grand Admiral Thrawn ordered the stormtroopers to take the rebel to an interrogation room. The ISB agent started to follow the soldiers when the Chiss stopped him in his tracks. 

"Agent Kallus."

"Sir?"

"No need to worry about interrogating the prisoner yourself. I will handle it from here."

"But sir, I'm–"

"Any issues with my decision, Agent?"

_Yes._

"No, sir."

With clenched fists, Kallus observed as Thrawn marched alongside the stormtroopers. To an outsider it would seem that Kallus was upset to not be the one to end the Lasat; his reputation ruined by his superior looking for glory. 

_If only…_

_If only that was the reason why._

The Fulcrum's thoughts raced, _Does Thrawn suspect me as the traitor?_ Why else would Thrawn toss the ISB agent aside?

Was his cover already blown?

_…_

Kallus glanced over at the clock on the wall. He swore time was stopping every time he looked away. Kallus had continued with his normal schedule, however fruitless he found the endeavor. _What's the point of working on these idiotic reports if Thrawn believes me to be the spy?_ Kallus took a deep breath and flexed his sore hand, "No need to prove the Grand Admiral right."

_ISB-021 is not a rebel spy. Just keep working. Zeb will be fine. Just one more hour and you can contact the Rebellion. He won't die. He won't die. He won't–_

Kallus slammed his hand onto his desk and rose to his feet. Trying to distract himself with writing reports wasn’t sufficient, his thoughts still wandered to Zeb. He rubbed his strained eyes free of the chains of exhaustion and took a deep breath through his nose. 

Kallus weighed his options, _Either finish these last few reports or…_

The door swished open. 

Kallus strode in the direction of the dormitories, the hum of machinery ominously filling the halls. Minutes passed and the absence of other living beings allowed the agent to let his guard down, if only for a few seconds (a mistake he would never do again). Suddenly the quiet corridor was filled with muffled screams, Kallus fought the urge to tear his ears off. How he wished the Empire could invest in thicker walls within their Star Destroyers. Instead, Kallus grit his teeth and let his fingernails dig into his palms.

The screams faded as he drew closer to the dormitories.

Once he entered his quarters, he collapsed onto the bed. Kallus buried his face in his hands; he was a dead man walking. His body pulsed alongside his heartbeat, previous events overwhelming him.

Everything was out of his control. Out of reach. He was useless. What was the point of becoming Fulcrum if he couldn't do anything to help. 

Kallus gasped for breath as anxiety flooded his veins. He swayed as he sat up and blindly reached for the soothing warmth. He grabbed the meteorite, its dim, golden glow relaxing his spiraling thoughts. 

_Focus!_

He opened his comlink, reporting the incident was the proper course of action to take. Have the rebels save their man and shifting the blame to another officer was the safest strategy. The static filled his brain as Kallus adjusted the frequency. 

_Would they make it to Zeb on time?_

The sudden doubt punched him in the gut. He turned off the comlink and practically launched out of bed, the meteorite despite its waning heat burned his hands. He threw the rock on his bed, leaving the dorm with the haunting image of purple fur stained with crimson.

Everything was a blur afterwards, his brain took a few minutes to catch up with his body. Kallus found himself marching toward the medical facility. What was he thinking? Risking his cover for Garazeb Orrelios. It was idiotic; he had repaid his debt to the rebel, helping Wren and the rookie pilots escape the clutches of the Empire.

A self-deprecating hiss left his lips. Who was he trying to fool? Surely not himself? Kallus knew he could never be "even" with Zeb, the honorable man who pushed him into seeing the truth. Zeb, who had the kindest eyes the agent had ever seen. 

Heat rose to his cheeks and Kallus almost tripped over the mental image that intruded his mind. After a few seconds of holding his breath to steady his rapid heartbeat, Kallus hung his head letting out a harsh breath, _I can't afford to be distracted right now._

With a huff, Kallus continued his trek to the medical center. The medical droid activated once he entered the room. He rushed past the friendly, "How may I be of service," and headed towards the back room. 

The med-droid fixed her gaze at the distressed ISB agent stealing most of the medical supplies. Medkits toppling dangerously in his arms, she counted fifteen packs, before one-by-one they unceremoniously dropped to the floor.

Hurriedly Kallus picked up the mess, mulling over how he would smuggle the medical supplies out of the station. He could try to hide the products in his uniform, but as he shoved a few packs in his suit the realization hit him like a rancor.

Any more than three packs and anyone with eyes would know he was hiding something in his suit. _It won't be enough._ He didn't know how injured Zeb would be by the time he came to help him. _Three of these medpacs might not be enough._

"It's fine," Kallus buried a hand into his hair, "It's fine." 

_It was definitely not fine._

"There has to be a way to get more without bringing any suspicion to myself," he racked his brain trying to strategically stuff the medpacs into the ISB uniform. "You owe it to Garazeb, you idiot."

Shaky murmurs of how he would get the first aid out without any suspicions hit the medical droid's sensors. As well as the name Garazeb. She saw Kallus' shoulders slump as he reluctantly returned all the kits except for three. _Garazeb._ Searching through her database, she confirmed that wasn't anybody's name on the Star Destroyer.

She remembered the armored ones gloating about a captured rebel as she was treating their injuries. They had boasted of their savage victory. She might have been a bit rough while treating them afterwards. With the roars of laughter still ringing through her circuits, the droid grabbed an empty messenger bag that was left behind. The droid walked to the agent and gave a small whir to get his attention. He startled and threw his fist forward. A dull thunk echoed through the room the medical droid examined the situation. _For future reference: alerting a human from a farther distance would be preferable, it will lead to fewer injuries._

She handed him the bag. 

"For you." 

He gaped at the gift. His lips quivered, "Thank you." Kallus turned back to the packs and began stuffing as many as he could into the bag. Was it overboard? Maybe, but he could never be too cautious.

Kallus bid the medical droid farewell, leaving the medbay feeling a little lighter than he had all cycle. The minor throbbing from having punched metal helped Kallus concentrate on his mission. _What's a little pain to save someone who deserves the entire galaxy?_

… 

After mulling over the mishmash of ideas he had, Kallus made his way to the hangar. Escape pods weren't big enough for both of them. He knew from experience. Taking one should be their last resort. TIE fighters while quick were, again, too much a tight fit. 

Kallus adjusted the bag, thankfully no one had questioned him yet about the new accessory. Kallus opted for a _Lambda_ -class T-4a shuttle. An easy choice, the ship was able to be piloted by one person and was pretty well-armed. He walked to the nearest one and pretended to examine its condition. Kallus never claimed to be an expert on ships, but he hoped his inexperience didn't show.

"You there!" He shouted to a nearby stormtrooper, the soldier looked around before pointing to themselves. Kallus pinched the bridge of his nose and exasperatedly sighed. "Yes, you." 

The trooper jogged up to Kallus as he scribbled down a report, "Take this to the mechanics. This ship is damaged and should be fixed immediately." They saluted and scurried away.

Kallus stood watching them merge into a crowd of white. He ultimately lost sight of the soldier when a ship landed and blocked his vision. Kallus diverted his attention to the TIE fighters and other shuttles leaving and entering the hangar. Imperial pilots were trained to prepare and start up their ships in a matter of seconds.

Kallus held back a smirk, with so many ships in need of repairs the report on the _Lambda_ -class wouldn't be discovered as false until Kallus shot out of the Star Destroyer with Zeb in tow. The report would give him enough time to jump into hyperspace before a dogfight could commence. 

A clean getaway.

The agent rubbed his fingers against the bag's strap. _This should work._ He turned and marched out of the hangar. _I've planned for as many possibilities as I could._

He once again passed the hall that held Zeb. The silence was deafening and a queasiness emerged from the pit of his stomach. Although he had wished for the screams to stop, Kallus wouldn't have expected for the quietness to be worse. 

Kallus fled from the area, the warmth he once welcomed set him ablaze. Bile rose to his throat, he swallowed down the burning sensation, and tears pricked his eyes. Stumbling into his dorm, Kallus heard his rapid breaths bouncing off the walls of the room. The door hissed closed and his knees gave out. 

Kallus slid against the door, taking measured breaths to calm himself. He ran his fingers through his well-kept hair. There wasn't much else he could do in his current state.

All he could manage to do was wait.

… 

"Where is the rebel base located?"

Cold fingers seized his face; Zeb shuddered as they dug into a gash on his cheek. The steely voice repeated the question once again. Thrawn's crimson eyes bore into him as they waited for an answer. 

Unfortunately, "Kriff you," wasn't what Thrawn was looking for.

A sharp pain bloomed as the fingers reinforced their grip on his face. They steadily scraped and tore at the skin. Zeb glowered at Thrawn, uncaring of the affliction as he uttered a snarl.

Zeb's defiance was met with the same, unchanging, stern expression before his back violently arched as electricity once again ran through him. A copper taste filled his mouth as his teeth clenched through the surge of energy. After what felt like an eternity, the hum of the machine stopped. Leaving Zeb's body twitching with what remained of the electrical currents. 

Thrawn watched the rebel spasm and frowned. It had been almost a full rotation and the rebel had spilled nothing of use. Perhaps a different approach would produce results. "Not long ago I had heard that Lasats were rather sturdy. I have to admit I didn't believe it at first." 

"G-good to know I leave a good impression," gurgled Zeb.

Thrawn hummed as he released Zeb from the device. The Lasat's knees crumbled underneath him–weak from the hours of abuse–the sudden drop elicited a small gasp from him as every ache made itself known.

The Chiss motioned to the guards in the room, who jogged over to forcibly lift their prisoner to his feet. Even with the help, Zeb felt like a kit trying to take their first steps. His vision swam as he tried to balance himself. He barely heard Thrawn speak once again.

"Now that I know that it's true, I want to test how long it will take for you to break."

Before Zeb could dwell on the threat, a sharp kick released him from the guards' clutches. Its strength nearly knocked him to the ground. He opened his eyes to see a fist come towards his face. 

The punch connected and the room spun for a few seconds. Zeb shook his head trying to steady the revolving space surrounding him. The abused scar on his cheek oozed a stream of blood down his face.

He frustratedly growled; the binders limited his movements. He couldn't fight properly. Thrawn used that to his advantage, overwhelming the muscle-bound Lasat with a barrage of attacks. 

Zeb spotted an opening and a small hope emerged. He shifted his stance to use the force of the attacks to clumsily move backwards to a wall. _Use it to propel yourself forward and send this kriffing asshole to the ground!_

Zeb felt the ghost of the wall on his arm. Leaning back to ready himself for the push, he wasn't expecting cruel fingers to grab the side of his head and bash his face against the durasteel. 

Thrawn grasped his adversary's arm, slowly twisting the limb out of its socket. Zeb's breathing quickened as hysteria engulfed every fiber of his body. The cuffs dug themselves into his wrists as he writhed in place, trying to get his tormentor off of him. The cold voice whispered into his ear, "The Rebellion."

The universe stilled for Zeb. The artificial honeyed words continued, "Tell me the location of the rebel base and all of this will end right here."

There was no hesitation, no regret. It was a stupid trade. From all the rumors and their encounters with the _Chimaera_ , Zeb would have thought Thrawn to be intelligent. He took a deep breath, "Break my kriffing arm, you Imperial scum!"

With his declaration, violent snaps trailed down his arm as it shattered in multiple places. A scream erupted from his tortured maw. With tears pricking in his eyes, he managed to swing his body around and topple his opponent over. Thrawn hit the floor with a bang, the noise made Zeb flinch.

The rebel slid to the ground, pressing himself to the wall. Its temperature is cool against his feverish body. "...Kara–" _His throat burned. Why did it hurt to speak?_ "–bast." 

Zeb forced himself up, using the wall to steady himself. Sweat and blood dripped off his fur, heavy pants echoed through his ears, the throbbing pain muddled his brain. His flesh was burning, yet his bones creaked with ice. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of blue closing in on him. In an instant, Zeb only knew one thing: fight.

He rammed his body against Thrawn, using his weight to unbalance the other. He unleashed a spin kick, the sound of crunching bones made him growl in satisfaction. Now with the other at a distance, Zeb slammed his skull against his opponent. He huffed and shook his head past the stinging sensation left behind. Regaining his bearings, he continued to pummel the man, oblivious to the string of whimpers that spewed past his lips as his broken arm throbbed with every strike. 

With his mind foggy with pain, he didn't hear the thundering sound of boots rushing behind him. The troopers seized him by his shoulders and drove his back against the metal floor. A howl of agony tore at his throat as the impact of the action not only knocked the wind out of Zeb but created a searing pain that exploded from his broken arm. 

Blood began to decorate his jaw as his body made an effort to eject the fluid. Hoarse coughs jerked his body, forcing him to fight for breath as precious air refused to enter his lungs. The lack of oxygen blurred the blue figure that enveloped his sight.

Thrawn smoothed out his uniform, and a small cruel smile emerged, "How long will it take for you to break, indeed."

The Chiss glanced at the guards and made a dismissing gesture; the stormtroopers hoisted up Zeb's limp body. Their fingers cruelly jabbed into the tender flesh. Zeb could only manage to produce a groan in response. 

"No food or water for the next 24 hours," Thrawn grabbed Zeb's beard, requiring the Lasat to stare in the blood-red eyes of his torturer, "Perhaps that will weaken his resolve." Despite the effort it took, Zeb managed to glare right back, his luminous, green eyes challenging the chiss to do his worst. 

"Take him away."

The troopers dragged Zeb out of the interrogation room, a trail of blood marking the route they took. In his hazy mind, Zeb smiled, knowing that someone would have to go out of their way to clean the mess he left behind. A beeping noise deafened him for a few seconds before being flung into an Imperial cell. His whole body tensed as his injuries screamed. Zeb took measured breaths to stop the pulsating of his mangled form. 

Finally, everything was calm; all of the abuse and leftover pain felt disconnected. Even with the Stormtroopers digging their boots repeatedly into his sides, their abuse, jeers, and laughter fell to deaf ears and a fading body. 

Maybe Zeb should have been concerned that all sensation was declining. But the only thought that crossed his mind as his eyelids grew heavy was of his family safe and sound on the _Ghost_.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure when the next part will be out, but hopefully it will be soon!
> 
> Come scream at me at my tumblr: mystical_salamader


End file.
